What Echo Heard
by Gordon Sombrowski
Oolichan, 2011
ISBN 978-0-88982-279-5
$21.95

This debut collection of linked short stories illuminates the social stratification of the small, working-class town of Fernie, BC and takes readers back to an earlier time: when timber and mining companies ruled a community cut in half by the railway tracks; when miners, loggers and tradesmen worked long, sometimes dangerous hours to provide for their families; when the church both cradled and towered above its people.

The title is derived from the myth ‘Echo and Narcissus’.

Although the stories feature a number of marginalized characters, the mountains that surround the town form another character for consideration. Their power is evident throughout: “[s]he had never seen mountains before, and she marveled that something could go so high into the air. She felt sure the mountains must keep the sky from falling down” (22). Their menace, too: “[h]e looked out his window where he could see Mount Fernie looming over the town, its snowy scalloped escarp lie a leering row of teeth taunting him to set right the injustice” (115-16). The natural environment is recognized throughout these stories.

The power of the mountains takes place alongside one of Sombrowski’s greatest strengths as a prose writer: his ability to occupy different perspectives of the immigrant experience. Sombrowski adopts the voice of a young girl who, together with her parents, works hard to create a new life in Canada. In “Maria Assunta’s Miracles”, the Italian-Canadian girl shops for groceries because she speaks better English than her parents (49). Maria skirts the periphery, travels by alleys and back roads in order to escape. “Sometimes when she was riding her bike she would repeat the name Hiawatha, Hiawatha, Hiawatha on each down stroke of the pedal. Riding her bike felt like flying” (48). Detail and rhythm evoke childhood, and provide a real point of connection.

Another example of Sombrowski’s ability to create compelling narrators occurs in his explorations of loss. In “Mittens”, a young German-Canadian girl faces racist barbs from her kindergarten teacher until they realize they share a common wartime experience. In “The Baker’s Wife” a young man, barely out of school, begins to understand the complexity of death as the mother of his dead schoolmate comforts him. “We sat huddled around the breakfast table, none of us sure of what to say to the other. We had the embarrassed faces of those who do not know where to look because wherever we looked we saw death” (204). These are meaningful stories.

And there is humour. The political stakes are high in “The Power Behind the Throne” when a dinner party disaster, “the bunning of the beehive” (130), wreaks havoc on the Board of Trade. A misguided hunting decision leaves two friends open to a charging grizzly, with comic and frightening results in “Survival of the Fittest”. These stories are the stuff of legends.

There is an erotic tone to Sombrowski’s writing. In “Maria Assunta’s Miracles” a devout Catholic young woman experiences a religious and sexual awakening on the banks of the river. “Afterwards she would never recall whether the figure had come from the sky or from the forest, although she clearly recalled the woman” (52). Ultimately Maria is awakened to the possibility of pleasure. There is also a romantic tone to the stories. In “Silence” two young men explore and come to understand a shared sexuality. “Their love had made them chaste. They seemed to know that the time was not right for there to be more” (175). This is simple and beautiful writing.

In particular, the outdoor scenes burst with sensory details. “The diesel fumes gave way to forest air that rushed into his nostrils: a medley of scents: pine and cedar, rot, dirt, turpentine and the sweat of sage and lavender that reminded him of his grandmother…he saw a blur of light and shadow, and greens of emerald, grass, hunter and black, grey and brown” (18). The language is sensuous and tactile.

The back cover of What Echo Heard states these stories are written “in the tradition of fables, tales and yarns”. This is true. Both the formality of Sombrowski’s language and sentence structure suit the traditional narrative. Most stories are told in a third-person point of view and are omniscient. This creates a sensation of circling above the town like a hawk on a current. Although the aerial distance emphasizes both the physical and social boundaries of the town and it’s people, the overall effect of omniscient drift is that the reader is left wanting.

Sombrowski’s fundamental strengths of creating characters and sensuous, detailed language are softened by the omniscient drift of these stories. Just as I got to know a character, the omniscient story shifted to another perspective. I wanted to hold onto the characters for longer periods, create stronger connections. I wanted more.

What Echo Heard is a solid debut collection of short stories and well worth reading. I look forward to Sombrowski’s next book because if he plays to his strength at creating compelling characters, his writing should only keep getting better.

This review appears in FreeFall Volume XXIII Number 2 Spring / Summer 2013

The post Book Review of “What Echo Heard” by Gordon Sombrowski appeared first on FreeFall Magazine.

Malarky
by Anakana Schofield
Biblioasis (2012)
ISBN 978-1-926845-38-8
$19.95

Some novels are laid out on a grid: turn left at the careful transition to arrive at the next chapter. Others are a tangle of intersecting roads and side streets, and there’s a car wreck on the fast road that’s creating havoc with traffic patterns. Malarky is the latter. Don’t expect detailed directions and a simple trajectory. This is one wild ride. Annabel Lyon said, “Malarky spins and glitters like a coin flipped in the air — now searingly tragic, now blackly funny. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant.” I agree wholeheartedly.

Set in present day west of Ireland, Anakana Schofield tells the story of Our Woman, a farmer’s wife, as she struggles to understand both her adulterous husband and her college-age son, Jimmy — and, caught in her thoughts, discovers her own life is unfulfilled. She is obsessed with sex as an antidote to her joylessness and, as she methodically explores her sexuality, comes to understand both her husband’s infidelities and her son’s sexual life as a gay man. Delightfully, she sides with her son “at the same malarky” (21) and explores this through a series of hilarious sexual encounters.

I loved this book from its opening lines. “— There’s no way round it, I’m finding it very hard to be a widow, I told Grief, the counsellor woman, that Tuesday morning” (7). What captured me was the strong, real voice of a woman who “wasn’t in my ordinary life, I was in an extraordinary moment in my ordinary life” (129). A woman-on-the-verge, you might say.

Although the reader soon discovers that both husband and son are deceased, this novel is delightful and funny. I was struck by how engaging the character of Our Woman is as she alternates between compulsively caring for a snoring drunk on the bus by wiping his face clean with wet wipes, thinking, “She could bring him home and fix him up” (145), and rebelling against her husband, “I remaining furious, paid little heed. I’d paid so much heed, now I was on strike” (48). I was also struck by the strength and value of her friendships. Our Woman’s girlfriends appear at her kitchen door on a daily basis for a spot of hot tea, provide meddling advice, and the tape measure. Jimmy’s friends are also there for him. When Our Woman escapes to Dublin to get away from marital discord and visits son Jimmy, she sits with them in a gay bar with her knitting in her lap, enjoying their company. “They were young, they were young lads, all of them…[b]ut they were pleasant, laughed together” (42).

Malarky is an episodic novel and, as such, shifts back and forth through time. Each episode involves tense and point of view shifts, and challenges the reader to follow along. This is not an easy book to read and the reader must have faith. Schofield’s structural choice is perfect for an exploration of loss, and mimics the movement, back and forth, through the messy process. It’s real life.

Schofield’s strong beautiful prose is compelling, propelling you through this turbulent story:

In the Blue House today she sits on the low Chinese fabric stool amid the rubble and jumble of the life that departed here so inexplicably that day. Those waves from Jimmy’s hand are still with her from the bus and new ones arrive as she sits in the house she is not supposed to be in (148).

Of interest, Schofield’s prose falls apart as Our Woman falls apart, another stylistic choice that mimics Our Woman’s mental dissolution in the psych ward of Castlebar Hospital. Throughout, her girlfriends are by her side, warning her, bickering and berating one another while Our Woman acts out yet again. Here’s an example:

     Joanie thinks Bina’s greedy eating all Our Woman’s Quality Street. As Bina is blaming Joanie, and Joanie is blaming Bina, Our Woman inquires where does Bina think the woman on the front of the puzzle book lives.
— For the love of God, Bina hushes her, don’t ask me such a thing, or they’ll have the sheets off ya (210).

A gang of middle-aged women looking out for one another reminds us of what’s important in lives — our friendships.
Malarky reminded me of a rowdy Greyhound bus ride I took in the 90s. A curtain of winter rain triggered avalanches at either end of a mountain town, effectively closing down the highway, and the bus driver deserted us: stoners in the back; a couple of old ladies with asthma in the front; and, me and my seatmate. In the crowded all-night diner, the conversation deteriorated into an admission of a diagnosis of ovarian cancer from my seatmate and a flailing fistfight between the stoners. A love-struck taxi driver deposited me at the train station where a drunken MP and his sober wife argued, loudly, careening from one wooden bench to the next. The train was hours late. I wasn’t sure if I’d make it home but I did. I’ll never forget it.
I can’t wait to read Anakana Schofield’s next offering.

Anakana Schofield’s Malarkey won this year’s Amazon.ca First Novel Award. Congratulations Anakana.

This review appears in FreeFall Volume XXIII Number 2 Spring / Summer 2013

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